"Internal Contusion / Confusion"
Monday, April 19th
5:04 A.M.
“Oh Otto, this is wonderful! Goodness, look at those lights, love…” Rosalie waved her arm, extending a finger in the direction of a bridge in the near distance, lights strung along its sides as it spanned over the canal.
They were staying in Matera, Italy. Otto’s family was native to Italy; he had a good amount of that in his blood, but his mother was European. He was paler than the rest of his family, but still had thick black wavy hair, deep brown eyes, and a broad nose that curved as it went down his well-structured face.
He gazed down to his left where his Rosie stood and smiled. The creases under his eyes carved into his cheeks, accentuating the glossy reflection of his obsidian irises. “Shall we?”
“Yes please!”
5:05 A.M.
“Otto, come back to bed, please?” Norman cooed, turning over onto his side.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Norman's hip bone folded against his rib cage as he relaxed into the bed and propped his head up, whining under his breath.
“I’m your man, I’ll do what you say…” Otto whispered, kneeling beside the bed. “I’d fall at your feet if you told me to, pretty boy.”
“Octavius, don’t flirt,” Norman sighed. “Just kiss me, you idiot.”
“I thought I was a nerd, Norm.” He joked in return.
Otto shifted onto the bed, smiling as he swung a leg over Norman’s turning body, putting him on his back. “I’m here, now.”
He lowered his head obediently towards Norman’s.
5:06 A.M.
“Come here, darling.” The tall man murmured.
Rosalie put her weight on her toes and let Otto lift her up onto the ledge of the bridge.
He could smell the sweet Chanel on her collarbones as he nuzzled into the nook between her shoulder and her neck, grinning against the soft tan skin that confronted his lips.
“You’re priceless, sweetheart.”
“So are you.”
His kisses peppered along her jawline, pulling away at her lips, leaving them unseasoned and desperate. “May I…?”
Rosie nodded happily, smelling the wine that Otto’s anxious breaths pushed from his tongue.
The kiss was perfect.
The sweet sound of a guitar from somewhere below the bridge swam along the canal as Otto enveloped her in his arms, keeping her from leaning too far back to join the musician below.
5:07 A.M.
“Otto…” Norman whimpered.
He slid his hands beneath the sturdy man’s suede button up, kneading the soft love handles between his cold fingers.
Norman never meant to mask his genuine feelings, he only intended to singe their paper edges to reduce the pile of overwhelming thoughts he filed.
This was so much more than the cheap high school crushes he had created to cope before.
This was so much more than the mindless heat he sucked up from back-of-the-shop magazines at night.
This was everything.
“Do you know how much I love your body?” Norman confessed, his rhetoric tone blowing far past Otto’s ears.
“I don’t… I’m fat. You can’t tell me you truly want that, Norman.”
“Fat’s not bad. Why do you think it’s an insult? You’re better than self-deprecation.”
“I…” Otto paused, contemplating. “...I think I like you.”
Norman knew that already, but he blushed the same as if Otto had just ‘fessed up his feelings.
“I think I love you.”
5:08 A.M.
Octavius swung Rosie from the ledge to around his hips, smiling upwards at her pretty face.
“Won’t you just pop the question, buy a house and raise some kids with me, already?” Rosalie giggled childishly, pushing Otto’s hair from his forehead for a sweet peck.
“I wouldn’t mind that.” He set her down, gaining back the height he lost when he held her so close above himself.
Oh, how perfectly it was timed; she couldn’t have set a more ironic scene if she tried. Otto wanted to visit where he grew up, just to let this new moment bleed through those sheet-thin childhood memories.
5:09 A.M.
“I’m your man.” Norman repeated Otto’s words.
With every bit of ego-shattering courage he stored over the years in his heart, Norman forced the words from his lungs.
The moon was too bright behind the curtains, and the weight of Otto’s body chaining him to the bed woke the beast asleep in him. He pursued the promises he’d kept for months for Otto- and Otto never knew them. He didn’t keep them then, but he could reignite their ashes now.
“I’d crawl to you, Otto. I’d fall at your feet and howl at your pure beauty, just like a dog in heat,”
“Norma-”
“I’d tear at your sheet, I’d even plead for it, because I’m your man, Otto..” Norman continued, sliding his hand up Otto’s stomach.
Otto shivered at his touch, falling forwards onto Norman’s chest. “I’m so in love with y…”
The vision faded black.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ah, the moons too bright
The chains too tight
The beast won't go to sleep
I've been running through these promises to you
That I made and could not keep
Ah, but a man never got a woman back
Not by begging on his knees
I'd crawl to you, baby
And I'd fall at your feet
I'd howl at your beauty
Like a dog in heat
And I'd claw at your heart
And I'd tear at your sheet
I'd say please, 'cause
I'm your man
I’m your man
‘Cause I’m your man
5:10 A.M.
“EEEEEP!”
“EEEEEP!”
“EEE- chk.”
Otto smacked the top of his alarm clock and groaned, struggling to keep his eyes open with each slow blink.
His ears hadn’t woken up yet either, barely recognizing Norman’s voice as the man snipped at Otto from the bed above him.
“Can your alarm be any louder? Jesus Christ, Octavius..” Norman groaned.
Otto rubbed his eyes, ignoring what his ears could now process.
‘Only a dream… dammit, Otto. Get your head in the game.’ Otto scolded himself. How could he be so foolish to believe something so whimsical? He was about science and statistics, not… that.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Norman, on the other hand, was still savoring his dream.
He looked down, doing a double take at the form between his legs in the sheets. “Shit.”
His subconscious dumb-assery got him in a physical tizzy, and unfortunately, a cold shower did not sound pleasant compared to the warmth of his blankets.
By the time he was truly up and his eyelids could keep themselves open, Otto had already left the room. If Norman was lucky, he would be able to sneak to the shower room without notice.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He felt pathetic for strategizing a plan that required scrambling around the halls like a rat.
-
Norman hummed to “Beauty Doesn’t Cry” by Jacquees as water rained against his back.
Luckily, earlier’s situation was properly avoided, even if it meant goosebumps and chattering teeth.
Otto’s showers were much more efficient than Norman’s; he was in and out within 10 minutes sharp, already drying off and getting dressed. However, maybe Norman’s strung-out shower time was justified this time, but Otto didn’t know that.
-
“Hey, you up?” Otto’s voice met an empty room and an empty bed- Norman must have left already.
‘I guess he probably showered last night.’ Otto concluded from his crime scene, letting the inner detective in him win.
For now.
Otto proceeded to his suitcase and pulled out a fresh pair of boxers and tugged them over his thighs and up onto his figure. Next came the “pop” of a deodorant cap as he prepared himself scent-wise for the day.
Old Spice; “Dynasty” scented. Whatever “Dynasty” smells like.
He rolled a few stripes of the stuff to the undersides of his arms and went on with his routine to apply lotion, brush his drying hair and get dressed.
Well, until he was abruptly interrupted.
The door opened with a squeal and Norman froze.
Otto went stiff as a board where he stood, in only his boxers. His back was turned to Norman- he knew it was Norman.
He would’ve rather it been Rosalie who walked in right now.
“Wow, baby got back.”
“Norman!” Otto squawked.
“Alright alright, sorry. I’ll turn the other way, your highness.” Norman surrendered sarcastically.
“Yeah, you’re a real charmer, Norman!” Otto huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned around to face the skinnier man in front of their door.
‘Oh my god. He’s nude- he’s naked. He’s naked!?’ Otto panicked, rushing to avert his eyes from the godly subject before him.
It took everything in Norman not to laugh at the sight of Otto absolutely crumbling just because he was in a towel. Then again… Otto was only in his boxers. Did that make it even now, or were they both going to ignore the sexually confused elephant in the room?
‘Suck it up.’ Norman thought, forcing himself towards Octavius.
He reached up and patted Otto’s shoulder, “You look good, man. Just accept it.” With that, he turned and returned to the tucked away door to the closet, opening it to his neatly organized wardrobe.
Otto stared at the muscles weaving between each other in Norman’s back, seeing one flex where another would fold as he bent down for one sock and then for the other
‘This is totally normal and completely, utterly straight. Yeah. This is fine, it’s fine.’ Otto reassured himself with pitiful efforts.
The room was far too quiet. Even the shifting of bodies and the sound of different fabrics being pulled up and down onto the men’s forms was too quiet- it was uncomfortable that both of them knew there was something completely different here than acquainted roommates just getting changed.
-
Walking out of the dorm wasn’t the breath of fresh air that Otto was hoping for.
Norman followed after Otto like a stray dog with nowhere else to go, annoying Otto greatly. He just wanted to walk to work in peace, but apparently he wasn’t going to get that today.
“Norman, you’ve been walking with me for three minutes now. You understand I’m going to work to work, right?” Otto sighed.
“Yeah, I want coffee. I don’t have class for another two hours.”
‘That’s a lie, I saw your schedule on your desk!’ Otto thought of how he could reply, but he restrained himself. He’d done enough damage after all the back-and-forth bickering last night.
Did he do the damage, though, or did Norman?
For every emotional injury Norman left behind, he threw some petals as he left. That made zero sense to Octavius, but he had to settle with this generic “frat boy” behavior… for now.
“If you’re gonna walk with me, you gotta be quiet, alright? I highly value my time to listen to music.”
“Alright.”
“...”
“What song are you listening to?” Norman butted in, betraying his word.
Otto’s temper threatened to rear its ugly head, but with enough softness in his heart for Norman, it rested once again. “It’s an older band, they’re called ‘The Controllers’.”
The taller of the two handed the shorter one a wired earbud, forcing them to bump hips as they walked.
I've asked myself so many times
Why do I always lose this heart of mine
And get nothing in return
Except the clown's reputation
A broken heart and much humiliation
I've asked this question again and again
And the answer's the same
Somebody's gotta win
Otto’s taste in music only mirrored half of Norman’s- he favored the oldies, but he also enjoyed modern RnB artists like Bryson Tiller, SZA, Miguel… the list went on and on, and new artists were on the rise every day, making for new options.
How could Otto listen to the limited; the possibly deceased? Of course, that’s just how life goes, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Otto ever got bored of having a restricted selection.
As they reached the doors of Blue Owl Cafe, “Blessed” by Daniel Caesar sounded from the speakers located against the back wall beside the kitchen’s entrance.
“Mm, see, this is why I love it in here. The music is always on point, and it’s warm in here.” Norman rubbed his palms up and down his upper arms, glancing around. The shop was desolate; only two or three people who looked to be college students as well sat around with a laptop or a book open in their lap.
“Really? It’s scorching in here to me. Can’t even wear a sweater for long before I have to take it off just to wait tables comfortably.”
Otto wrung out a wet cloth and threw it over the handlebar of a metal cart with dishes on it and turned back to Norman as he shook off his light jacket from his shoulders and pulled his maroon sweater over his head, ridding him of the heat-trapping layers.
Norman sat on the bar stool closest to Otto’s seemingly usual workstation, studying his movements and how he shifted into his working mindset.
“Hey Otto, d’you got a pen?” Norman supplicated, finding that he didn’t have his own on him at the moment.
“Mhm.”
He slid Norman a Mayo Clinic branded ballpoint pen, remembering its subtle significance.
“You’ll be alright... I’m sure.” Young Otto pressed a kiss to his mother’s forehead.
A monitor beeped to the right side of him behind his back, repetitively asking for attention, but never getting what it wanted.
Julie’s hospital room was quiet, cold and stale. The air smelled like his first doctor’s visit and the nitrile gloves that poked and prodded at his body, or maybe the sterile wooden tabs they pressed against his tongue during a strep-throat test.
Otto’s mother had a bout of seizures for a reason still unknown to both him and his father, and the doctors wouldn’t come to a conclusion quickly enough. Maverick was working the night shift and convinced Julie’s nurse to let Otto stay until 2 AM, when Maverick would come to check in and pick him up.
Otto scribbled at the table in the corner, swinging his feet in the stiff chair under him as he wrote,
‘To Mom,
I love you lots, I appreciate you. You are wonderful and kind and nice to me, you have pretty eyes and hair. Dad and I miss you and we hope you get better soon. You are very strong and make me strong too. I drew you and me and Papa.
- Otter
He would never take something as delicate as his mind for granted again. Julie had a brain tumor, and she somehow survived past the 5-year rate.
Otto returned to his morning clean-up from the previous evening's team shenanigans.
Norman picked up the pen and a sticky note from the pad on the counter and started scribbling out nonsense,
‘Otto-
Your eyes coerce the stubbornness in my heart, yet I fail to follow through. You’re gentle like a sweet, supple composition on the finest piano in a classic bar. You exude complete, unadulterated gold. Your soul is warm and molten like a bout of lava flowing against cold rocks, always finding a way back. You remind me of graham crackers dipped in milk, with straws of honey snapped open on the side. I don’t deserve your peace and tolerance, but I hope I earn your attraction, somehow. You are admirable both physically and emotionally, I hope you see that. Your weight is perfect, your height is overwhelming, your eyes are comforting… you’re like the home I’ve never had. I don’t want to lose that house- that home, so… I apologize for how I’ve treated you.’
- N.
P.S. - I’m glad that poetry class came in useful for something.
Norman swallowed the lump in his throat and set the pen down.